Convergence
by IshkabibbleScribble
Summary: Bruce has moved into Stark Tower for the time being, but is plagued at night by the emotional fallout from the last battle. Help comes from a surprising source. Set after the Avengers film.


Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, Bruce Banner, or Tony Stark. (sadly) It all belongs to Marvel.

Reviews are appreciated. :)

His nighttime routine was often punctuated by uneasy bouts of sleep since the accident-_the_accident-but Bruce found himself even more of a insomniac in the wake of Loki's departure. Every night for the past week found him padding carefully through Tony's three-story penthouse at the top of Stark Tower, staying well away from the master suite at the end of the second floor. Pepper was due to leave for London for a two-week stint of press junkets and panels on the arc reactor tech and its position in the clean energy field, and they were definitely...making their brief time before the separation count.

He worked a hand through his messy hair, and descended to the ground floor, ignoring the loneliness that beat against him. Imagining what a normal life might be was too agonizing to dwell on for long. Tony had trusted him from the beginning, even when the others assumed he was too wild, too unruly to work on a team; Tony was confident he would return, that he belonged with the Avengers. Bruce still wasn't so sure.

He trusted Tony, though, eccentric as the other man was. He was growing more fond of him daily, yet, a small part of him deeply envied his friend. Tony had surmounted his unavoidable problem, had not wallowed in self-pity for long before throwing himself into a way to work with the glowing tech in his chest. To see it as more than a hindrance, more than a cross to bear. Behind the flashy reactor, the armored suit, the fortune, and the company, Tony was just a man with a fancy battery in his chest that powered a magnet to hold the microscopic shrapnel at bay.

_And I'm a man who changes into a monster when I get angry. Totally the same._

The rage simmered just under his skin-partly his own, and partly the other guy's-threatening to erupt if his attention slipped for even a nanosecond. But Bruce knew he could control it. The ease with which he had embraced and repelled the Other Guy towards the end of the battle-they had reached a new understanding. A tiny pinpoint of light flickered at the end of the long, green tunnel.

It still didn't stop him from trying the gun again and again, though the results were the same as every other time. No matter the angle, the green guy always repelled the bullet. He had wasted two clips one evening before he had given up. His new teammates would be horrified. Fury would attempt to put him into therapy, or maybe a cage like the weak one onboard the helicarrier that Thor had smashed to tinder. It would be a blessing to close his eyes and never return, a one-way trip to Nirvana. He visualized the Glock that S.H.I.E.L.D had issued him, lying under the bed, and resisted the urge to retrieve it, to perhaps catch the Other Guy off guard. To end it.

"Why so dark tonight, Bruce?" He asked himself mockingly. "Can't find your prayer beads? Maybe _he's_got them." It had been several years since the accident, and yet, he could hardly reconcile that he and the green guy shared the same headspace. The amnesia he experienced at the beginning of his "Hulk-outs" (as Tony had dubbed them) had waned dramatically. A tenuous continuity of sorts existed between himself and his other half. He no longer had to piece together what had happened in the absence of his 'Bruce' consciousness from a sequence of truncated events. He had always felt a duality in his mind, a divide between the civilized and the savage. Never did he dream that one day it would be made manifest. That he would be brought to face the consequences of curiosity.

He abruptly slammed his fists on the wet bar counter, noting that it was an outburst completely under his own power. The marble slab didn't split in half. The liquor stored underneath didn't shatter into glittering dust. Bruce forced himself to take several deep breaths, and strode outside to the terrace before he could actually wreck the few remaining things that hadn't been destroyed during the last battle.

The constant breeze outside whistled noisily around Tony's launch platform. Bruce knew that one version of the Iron Man armor (of the four currently in the penthouse) lay underneath the grooved panels, waiting for Tony to step into the darkened rings at the end, complete the circuit, and start the suiting process. He entertained the idea of trying the suit on for shits and giggles before remembering that the suit was intimately tailored to Tony, and Bruce was rather broad in the shoulders anyway. _That would have been fun. To zip away into the sky and leave everything behind._

The helplessness burned in his stomach suddenly, and the Other Guy rumbled in warning.  
"Oh, shut it," he mumbled irritably, walking to the glass railing to stare at the city below. He glanced down at the stone tiles, noting the splotches here and there of godly blood that had yet to be cleaned up. One good downpour would do the trick. Sadly, New York had been without rain for going on eight weeks.

Bruce knew_ almost_all the triggers that would incite the Other Guy, and most were related to various nuances of his rage. He had not been kidding when he'd told the team that his "secret" was the undercurrent of anger that tainted every second of his wakefulness. Yet a handful of triggers were tied to certain memories. Or, in this instance: rain.

He found himself sinking down onto the polished stone floor, arranging his hands into the _mahamudra_. Though he had gone through the motions countless times, each time he touched his thumbs together, he recalled the face of the nameless Buddhist priest who had first taught him the power and simplicity of meditation. He had stumbled into the Mahabodhi Temple, barely able to stand, his clothing in tatters, old blood and sweat trails streaking the weeks of grime coating his body, his mind a seething wreck of anger and hurt. The hurt had been the worst.

The wavering light of countless tapers and lamps suffused the small sanctum with a warm, ethereal glow. The heavy incense clung to his nose, wrapped around his brain, blunting the sharp edges of his fractured psyche. The silence settled on his shoulders like a physical weight, banishing the last of his fear, leaving him bone-weary.

He dragged himself forward and collapsed to his knees in front of the gilded statue, too fixated on the Buddha's face to notice the small man kneeling next to him. The soft touch of a hand between his shoulder blades made him jerk, but the demon inside only stirred, lulled into a fitful sleep by the shrine's serenity. The monk's eyes were dark, glimmering stones, staring at him, _through_him. The lamp light gleamed off his shaved pate, seemed to be absorbed by the dark orange dye of his robes. Wordlessly, Bruce mimicked the movements of the older man: crossing his legs, aligning his left hand over his right, touching the thumbs. He matched his breathing with his silent teacher, listening in wonder as the howls of the beast inside gradually diminished. For the first time since the accident, he experienced a measure of peace. The only reality was the stone underneath his hips, the breath entering his lungs, the press of the enclosed space and the incense. When he opened his eyes a few hours later, he took one final breath, feeling cleansed and empty.

Bruce rose to his feet, a wave of dizziness causing him to sway a bit as he made his way back to the outer walls of the large temple. He noticed a bedroll had been placed by the entrance of the inner sanctum, up under the eaves, along with a bowl of water and a bowl of vegetables with a bit of cooked fish. He inhaled the food, lay back on the bedroll, and watched the stars wink in and out of existence behind the heavy thunderheads rolling across the sky. It must have been the middle of June, for the monsoon season had made landfall in Maharashtra just as he had been leaving. That meant Bihar, where the temple was located, would be enveloped in lashing sheets of rain and high winds for months. The perfect cover.

Ever since the emerald afterimages had faded from his eyes and he'd been confronted with his miscalculation, he had been pursued across the globe. Barely avoiding the special forces when he'd landed in Marrakech, he had no choice but to strike out across Algeria, skirting the Sahara, angling towards Tripoli and catching a trawler to Turkey. From there, the Other Guy had only helped when he'd needed to swim the Caspian Sea by night. He'd had several episodes on his way through Turkmenistan-_too many people dead, so much destruction, he could never go back_- hugging the borders until he rested in Kathmandu, before being driven into India proper. He'd always wanted to see the world; he just never imagined it would be as a pariah, drifting from one location to the next.

A wind shear knocked him backwards into one of the stone planters, abruptly dragging him from his memories. He shook his head and stood up, smoothing his rumpled pajamas, allowing his mind to fully come forward into the present. The Other Guy was as far away as Bruce could manage. He took several deep breaths, centering his emotions, and slipped back inside the penthouse, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Tony was waiting for him, leaning against the wet bar, obviously still half-asleep.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Bruce said. "Just couldn't sleep."

"How are you liking R & D?"

A genuine smile slipped onto Bruce's face at the non-sequitur. "It's amazing. Awe-inspiring."

Tony returned the sentiment with a smug look of his own. "Isn't it?"

"I could die happy in the physics labs. Seriously. The projects you've got, progress in fucking _string theory_-light years ahead of most universities..."

His friend nodded, a sharp light coming into his eyes. "Don't suppose you've been to the gamma labs yet GR-1? GR-4?" He said in a nonchalant tone.

Bruce sighed and scrubbed at his face wearily. "Yeah, no. Fell off that horse, never got back on. You know..."

"Ah. You seemed pretty well-acquainted when we were tracking the Tesseract."

Bruce fixed his friend with an under-eyed look. "Yes, well, that was a special circumstance."

"I see. Given up, then?" Tony asked.

Bruce shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Sometimes I'll throw myself into the research, but all I can fixate on is _the_mistake. I think I'm...afraid of following that rabbit further down the hole." He looked down at himself, as if he could see the Other Guy on the surface of his skin. "Although, really, how much worse could it get, right?" He laughed humorlessly.

"It can get worse. It did for me," Tony said quietly. "All that PTSD from my abduction by the Ten Rings-that hit me eight months after I got back. And after that shit with Obadiah. I didn't take it well."

"Tony, I had no idea," Bruce said with feeling, reaching out to grip the other man's shoulder.

The inventor nodded before shrugging his hand away. "Nobody knows about it, actually. Never went to a hospital or a shrink. Totally off the books." He glanced meaningfully at Bruce. "I'd be dead if it wasn't for Pepper. And Rhodey. Alcohol poisoning. High speed crash. Self-Harm." He huffed a laugh. "Any number of things, really."

"When did you and Pepper become a...thing?"

Tony smiled wistfully. "Took too long. Should have seen it coming." He dragged his eyes across the ruins of his living room, the plastic tarpaulins and bare support beams, the ruined furniture that still needed to be removed. "I could never have seen it coming, though."

Bruce nodded. How tragic was it that both men regarded happy circumstances with more suspicion than joy? "Pepper's wonderful," he said, thinking of how warmly she had invited him into Stark Tower and set up his clearance badge.

"Pepper is...exceptional," Tony replied, a strange wash of emotions flickering over his face.

"You're a lucky man, Stark. Pepper's way too good for you," Bruce said, trying for some levity.

Tony regarded him with an expression Bruce couldn't quite place, then gestured at him with both hands. "C'mon big guy. Bring it in for a hug."

"What? No, Tony, not necessary-" Bruce stammered, taking a few steps away from the sleepy millionaire.

"No, this is necessary. Very, in fact. Everyone likes hugs. Or they should."

"Tony," Bruce said in exasperation, realizing he had backed himself into a corner. "It's not appropriate-"

Tony made a rude, dismissive noise. "Nah. We're bros. That's in vogue now, you know-_bromance_. We have that. We're science bros." Tony drew himself up suddenly, and made eye contact. "Not gay, alright?" He said, pointing at his chest with both hands.

"Of course not," Bruce sputtered, wondering if Tony would remember this fucking embarrassing moment they were having in the morning.

Tony quirked an eyebrow at him. "And?"

Piqued, Bruce thunked the arc reactor with angry purpose. "I'm not gay either, alright? Jesus Christ," he muttered, crossing his arms.

His friend spread his arms wide, somehow managing to still look half-asleep. "Then what's the problem? You need it. Can't two friends hug?"

"Why do you want to hug me so much? Is this for me, or for you?" Bruce asked bluntly, settling against the wall.

The other man leaned forward into his space, a reproachful look on his features. "You're the guy who's trying to paint a Jackson Pollock with his brain meat, ok? The hug's definitely for _you_. Oh, don't look surprised," he added, noting the look of disbelief on Bruce's face. "Very few things escape my attention, once I deign to look at them."

"How'd you know?" Bruce asked in spite of himself.

Tony shrugged. "Everything follows a pattern. The solar system, the climate, life. Humans are the most predictable. Nothing new under the sun, etcetera." He fixed his friend with an alarmingly knowing look. "I've walked in the dark. I know what's there. What waits." He abruptly switched his attention to the ruined upholstery on the nearby Eames chair, and Bruce was left wondering about the very real enigma that was Tony Stark.

Bruce let his shoulders slump, and hung his head, feeling the tendons in his neck strain. It was quiet again, except for the soft buzz of the arc reactor. Tony was stubborn, and Bruce would have to give in if he wanted to escape.

"Alright."

Tony clapped a hand on his shoulder, his face open, devoid of the usual lines of sarcasm and deflection. "Embrace the love, and don't let the Other Guy crush me," he said with a hint of his normal humor, and wrapped his arms around the physicist.

Bruce stiffened, uncomfortable with the contact, before a realization pinged in his skull. It had been years since anyone had touched him, much less with affection. How could he have risked it? There was no room for anything else. There was only the eternal struggle with his literal demon. This new awareness punched him in the gut, and to his horror, he returned the hug fiercely. Tony, to his credit, matched him for strength, and Bruce had never felt such gratitude for another human being since that monk, all those years ago. He still hated himself for enjoying the small measure of comfort, but as long as Tony didn't attempt to reenact it for the other Avengers, he could live with it. He had no tears, though the emotion was certainly there. Bruce didn't think he was capable of crying again. Ever.

"Better?" Tony asked several minutes later as the men drew apart.

"Uh, yeah?" Bruce said sheepishly.

Tony made to hug him again, and a nervous laugh bubbled in Bruce's chest as he shoved his friend away. "Yes. I meant yes. One hundred percent. No more hugs. Ever."

The inventor rolled his eyes. "And they say _I'm_the narcissistic sociopath."

"Wow, really?"

"Not so much sociopath anymore. That's when I was young, at MIT. Spent more time with machines, failed to 'react appropriately' when my suitemate died from an overdose, that sort of thing. Narcissist, though-" he pulled a face "-that one's still true. I love me."

Bruce chuffed a laugh, torn between amazement and exasperation at Tony's honest self-appraisal. He seemed to inspire that sentiment in people.

"Good thing I'm not trying to compete with your ego, then," Bruce said.

Tony smirked. "Good thing I have all the fun toys. And I'm willing to share."

Bruce grinned and held up his hands in mock surrender. "There's that ego, again. I'm leaving. Before you try to hug me again." He slowly backpedaled up the staircase.

The inventor poured a generous pull of scotch and lounged against the bar, eyes riveted on his friend over the top of the glass as he took a sip. "Let's make a date for this Thursday night. GR-1, 10th floor of R&D. You bring the aperitif (I have several bottles to choose from in the wine cellar), and I'll bring the main course."

The physicist allowed the anger to wash through him, maintaining a tight grip on the railing as he analyzed his reaction. It was excessive, and a defense mechanism-the Other Guy's favorite trigger. _Tony only wants to help. For some reason, he sees value in your friendship._"May I politely decline?"

Tony shook his head. "Nope. You're part of the team. And you're living here. Do me a favor."

"So you're blackmailing me?"

Tony sighed and drained the last of his (late) nightcap. "I'm not blackmailing, you stubborn ass. I'm _helping_. God knows I'm not an expert at it. This is all new."

Bruce looked nonplussed. "You? Not an expert at something?"

Tony ascended the first few steps and pointed his finger in the other man's face. "Go ahead and see where all that clever sarcasm gets you. The people I give a shit about comprise a very short list. If you want to be scratched off, that's fine." He pushed past his speechless friend and made his way down the hall.

"Wait, Tony..." Bruce said, his voice quiet even to his own ears. "Where's the wine cellar?"


End file.
